Savages

6: Privacy

Sannah's eyes jerked open, and his name was the first thing on her lips. Saint. It took a few seconds for the rest of reality to coalesce around that, like a raindrop forms around a speck of dust.

She could sense it was morning, even though it was dark in the blackhouse. It was cold, but her body was warm under the blankets. Judit was no longer in bed. She was by the door, answering it. Someone had knocked. That's what had woken Sannah up.

"Hey." Sannah could hear Judit's voice from the door, soft and low, although she couldn't see her through the half-drawn curtains of the box-bed.

"Hey." She recognised Gaen. "I was gonna go hunting. Over to the north cliff, maybe, get some lavy. I wondered if you wanted to come." He was speaking softly too. Sannah could barely catch the words.

"I dunno...maybe. Just... just us? You going on your own?"

"I was going to ask Brock. Maybe Hegri."

"Nah," Judit sounded doubtful. "I'm alright I think. I wanted to see Merle, anyway. Talk about the beans."

There was silence then, for such a long time that Sannah assumed Gaen had gone, and Judit was just staring out of the door, looking at the woods, the weather.

But then she heard Gaen cough awkwardly, and say, "Alright. Maybe see you later then. I'll come find you and Merle."

"'Kay. Whatever."

There was a scrape and a soft thud, the sound of the door shutting. Then silence again. Sannah lifted her head, pulled back the curtain gently, ready to say good morning.

Judit was leaning on the closed door, her head in her hands, face pressed against the wood. Her expression was entirely hidden by the shadows, by her hands and hair, yet the set of her shoulders and her posture were dripping with it. She looked utterly dejected.

Sannah quickly let the curtain fall. The scene felt too intimate, uncomfortably intimate, like it was something she wasn't meant to see.

She withdrew herself into the blankets and closed her eyes. He was still there. He was always there. She let her mind settle back into his forms, undulating like fresh snowfall over his peaks and troughs.

Saint. I'm coming. Can you feel me? Are you waiting? I'm coming, Saint. I'm coming.